The 7 Deadly Sins of Fenrir Greyback
by ArsenicAngel
Summary: 7 fics of Greed, Lust, Gluttony, Pride, Wrath, Envy, and Sloth in the life of Fenrir Greyback.  Inspired by the 7 deadly sins  community on LJ.  Specific prompts listed in the AN of each chapter.
1. The Sin of Lust

**Prompt:** #6, Lust**  
Word Count:** 267**  
Rating:** R**  
Disclaimer:** All things Potter are not mine, and I make absolutely no profit from the borrowing of them for this fic. And as no beta has laid eyes on this fic, all mistakes are mine.**  
Author's Notes:** While this really could have been done from Fenrir's perspective, it seemed so much more fun (and a bit more chilling) to do it this way. Bwahaha!

* * *

She thinks he doesn't see the trembling of her lower lip as he touches her, raking his filthy nails over the exposed flesh of her arm. But instead, he revels in the sight; little does she know that he would touch her less if her composure would have held. The scent of her fear radiates off her body in waves, and he breathes it in deeply. There's no mistaking that the growl it elicits from his throat is one of an animal.

Faster than she expects, he's moved behind her, pinning her arms to hold her still as he pulls her back against his chest. His grey hair brushes against her bare shoulder when he leans in, trailing his tongue along the salty flesh of her throat. "Where should I do it, girly?" he asks, his voice as raspy as it had always been. "How about right _here_?" To emphasize the word, he places one hand tightly around her throat. When she swallows nervously, he can feel the motion against his palm.

"Please," she whispers weakly, trying desperately to hold back the tears in her eyes. And all she hears in response is a barking laugh before he's on her. Before the moment his sharp teeth sunk into her flesh, she thought it had been something else the werewolf lusted after. But the vicious tearing of his teeth and claws against her body made it horrifyingly clear, in the moments before the light finally faded from her eyes, that what Fenrir had lusted for was not the charms of her flesh, but the taste.


	2. The Sin of Gluttony

**Prompt:** #2, Gluttony**  
Word Count:** 190**  
Rating:** R**  
Disclaimer:** All things Potter are not mine, and I make absolutely no profit from the borrowing of them for this fic. And as no beta has laid eyes on this fic, all mistakes are mine.**  
Author's Notes:** This is the only prompt table I've decided to do this for, so in case it isn't clear: These fics are actually telling a story! (omg!) So this is the continuation of Fenrir's tale. Enjoy!

* * *

Her blood had hardly dried on his face before Fenrir spotted another woman who made him lick his lips. Despite the slight chill on the air around them, there was no coat draped around her slim shoulders. It left her pale skin exposed and shining beautifully in the sliver of moonlight that fell on the cobblestone street. Licking his lips as he watched her from the shadows, he tasted traces of his earlier victim's blood and smirked wickedly. Taking her had been a game for him, his desire for the taste of her flesh fueled by the same instincts that only effected most other wolves during the full moon. This woman, though, would be different; with his lust sated for this night, at least, he was after something more. A strangled scream, or even a plea for her life to set his blood boiling before he tore her throat open with his bare hands would be divine. And she would not be his last kill this evening. For you see, Fenrir Greyback is a glutton for murder, and will never be satisfied with the number of lives he has claimed.


	3. The Sin of Envy

**Prompt:** #5, Envy  
**Word Count:** 255  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** All things Potter are not mine, and I make absolutely no profit from the borrowing of them for this fic. And as no beta has laid eyes on this fic, all mistakes are mine.**  
**

* * *

'Why?' It hadn't been her last word, but her lover's. The man had tried to rescue her just as Fenrir's teeth had sunken into the quivering flesh of her throat. Teeth have the astounding ability to make an artery nearly explode as they pierce, sending a spray of blood across his face, and that of the foolish man attempting to save the girl.

Taking care of him had been simple. A quick, violent twitch of his large hands had snapped his neck with a satisfying _crack_. Still, the question had hovered in the back of his mind as he left the two lifeless corpses behind in the deserted, cobblestone square.

Of course, they had love while he had none, but he was more of a solitary creature; all he truly loved was the hunt and the taste of a fresh kill on his tongue. And the 'simple' lives they lead were laughable. No, these were not the reasons he devoured flesh and blood as though it were the most decadent feast. Outwardly, he would give his reasons no name. But in the deepest recess of his mind, he knew the reason why.

In the end, he envied every one of them. Not for their lives or their normality, but for their fear. Even the most stoic man will tremble in the last moments of his life, and Fenrir envied every moment of that fear. It was an emotion that he hadn't felt in years, long lost to the violent and vicious animal that he'd become.


	4. The Sin of Sloth

**Prompt:** #4, Sloth  
**Word Count:** 100  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer** All things Potter are not mine, and I make absolutely no profit from the borrowing of them for this fic. And as no beta has laid eyes on this fic, all mistakes are mine.

* * *

He was losing his touch, and he knew it. With the Dark Lord reigning over the wizarding world, it had become all too easy for him to hunt as he pleased. There was no longer a need for stalking in shadows when he could simply pluck his latest kill in broad daylight. Perhaps it was less thrilling, yes. But it was so much _easier_.

As he lay across one of Malfoy's settees, Fenrir idly plucked flakes of blood from the stubble on his face, though without the enjoyment he was accustomed to. Sloth and decadence was spoiling him, it seemed.


	5. The Sin of Greed

**Prompt:** #1, Greed  
**Word Count:** 220  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** All things Potter are not mine, and I make absolutely no profit from the borrowing of them for this fic. And as no beta has laid eyes on this fic, all mistakes are mine.  
**Author's Notes:** The italicized line is directly from Deathly Hallows chapter 23.

* * *

_"Reckon she'll let me have a bit of the girl when she's finished with her?"_

Oh, it had been a long shot, he knew. Bellatrix was as fond of 'sharing' as he himself was, and more likely, the Mudblood would be dead before he could get his teeth into her. Still, as he hovered in a corridor outside of the dungeons, listening to her screams echoing in the elegant halls, it was difficult not to dream.

Mudblood or no, the curve of her throat had been smooth, and he could see her pulse racing when he'd looked at her. She'd had an earthy scent clinging to the ringlets of her hair, her clothes, even her skin. It was tantalizing in a strange way; reminiscent of tracking his prey through trees and underbrush in the forests, with all the appeal of a human kill.

The young woman's screams slowly began to crack and fade into pitiful whimpers, and Fenrir felt his mouth begin to water slightly. Whether she was alive or not by the time he could try to get his hands on her was suddenly not so important to him, when the metallic scent of blood assaulted his nose. In greedy anticipation, he dashed his tongue across his lips, already imagining how she might taste, even as her heartbeat faded.


	6. The Sin of Wrath

**Prompt:** Wrath  
**Word Count:** 264  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Character death (a pregnant one, at that)  
**Disclaimer:** All things Potter are not mine, and I make absolutely no profit from the borrowing of them for this fic. And as no beta has laid eyes on this fic, all mistakes are mine.

* * *

"What's a pretty thing like you doing out so late...all alone?"

He never bothered to hide the mixture of lechery and malice in his tone as he looked at the young woman, his lips curling back to bare his teeth to her. The Dark Lord hadn't taken well to the loss of Potter and his friends, and with Lestrange's incompetence and the Malfoy brat's refusal to name them straight off, his victory had been entirely overlooked. They'd ifound/i him, damn it. Found him, and brought him in, and now...

Now, he needed blood on his hands. And when there was to be no relief for his rage within the Manor, that ihonour/i fell on whichever Muggle female he could get his hands on- and his teeth into- first.

The fight she put up was pathetic. There was no thrill to the chase when it was so easy to keep up with her as she sprinted through the empty streets. What cries she made for help as she tried to evade him fell on deaf ears of the Muggles tucked safely away within their homes for the evening, smart enough not to get themselves involved.

He found very little satisfaction in the act as he sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of her throat, even as she feebly twisted in his arms in an attempt to escape him. So much fight in her, and still, it did little to ease the boiling anger in his blood. Although...

There was a certain satisfaction to realizing he'd prevented the birth of one more useless Muggle.


	7. The Sin of Pride

**Prompt:** Pride  
**Word Count:** 150  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Main character death  
**Disclaimer:** All things Potter are not mine, and I make absolutely no profit from the borrowing of them for this fic. And as no beta has laid eyes on this fic, all mistakes are mine.  
**Author's Notes:** I've been working up toward this ending since I started the first fic for this table, and I'm quite happy to be able to say that I've finally done it. I've finally killed one of the handful of evil characters that I've toyed with- and I loved it, mind you- and it's... so very _satisfying_.

* * *

He was untouchable.

He was faster, and he was wilder, and he was nowhere near as tied up in moral conflict to waste precious moments quibbling over what spells to cast at those he was facing down.

The last he'd expected, as he caught the falling witch in his jaws, sinking his teeth into her flesh, was an attack from behind. But the Mudblood couldn't- wouldn't- kill him. No, that was the fall.

There was no saving himself on the landing when the stunner took away his control in those few vital seconds. No turning to prevent himself from breaking the short fall with his own neck, and being only coherent enough to vaguely register the sensation of it snapping as he crumpled to the ground before everything went permanently black...

If he hadn't been so damn prideful, perhaps he'd have thought to watch his own back a little better.


End file.
